


Right At Home

by catwalksalone



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Comment Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Issues, Kowalski has them. Nothing that can't be solved with a nice bit of porn, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right At Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for oxoniensis' Fifth Porn Battle, January, 2008. Prompt - drill.

Kowalski is either the dumbest fuck ever, or he's set the bar of self-esteem so low only a double-jointed Chinese acrobat could limbo under it. It isn't like Ray hasn't tried; he keeps turning up, doesn't he? Regular as clockwork, Tuesdays and Fridays, he knocks on Kowalski's door, sometimes empty-handed, sometimes bearing gifts of food, drink, hot man-on-man action, whatever.

And yet every time Kowalski opens the door he looks at Ray with a mixture of surprise and disbelief as if he honestly hadn't expected him to be back. There is something about the expression that disturbs Ray and he closes in on Kowalski, wiping it off the only way he knows how.

Ray is ready and willing, letting Kowalski pretty much have whatever he wants, fast and furious; Ray's mouth on his dick, Ray's fingers, Ray's tongue in his ass, Kowalski's hands and mouth all over Ray. Hell, Ray lets Kowalski fuck him and that's one particular virginity Ray's always been planning to cherish until death does him and his ass part.

He even turns up one time with a six-pack, slumps on the only armchair and tries to watch TV, have a conversation, hang out. Get it into Kowalski's thick skull that he's there because he wants to be, not because he's in some self-loathing, Catholic-guilt inspired, nihilistic spiral of doom. Not least because he isn't entirely sure what nihilistic means. But Kowalski seems affronted and somehow he ends up with a lapful of getting-too-old-for-this cop grinding down on him then sticking his hand down Ray's pants and it's game over.

Twisting long fingers inside Kowalski, Ray watches him squirm and wonders if bringing flowers would help. He grins to himself and almost misses the short burst of sound that escapes before Kowalski bites his lip and looks away.

"What?" he asks, intrigued. "What do you want, Kowalski?" He curls his fingers in just the right way to make Kowalski bang his head off the pillow, to force a drop of fluid to well at the tip of Kowalski's dick.

Kowalski shakes his head. "You don't wanna- This is good, Vecchio. Keep doing this."

Ray stills his fingers, which is harder to do than he'd imagined; he can feel the curve of smooth skin against them almost begging him to press it, see the pleasure wash across Kowalski's face. "Tell me."

Kowalski closes his eyes. "Fuck me," he says in a voice that's barely there.

Ray's heart stutters. "You never- I didn't think- You want that?" Smooth, Vecchio, very smooth.

And now Kowalski opens his eyes and meets Ray's gaze, half-challenging, half-pleading and Ray complies. Of course he complies. He's slicked up and ready to go and Kowalski is shifting, twisting around onto his knees and Ray wants this but there's this little itch growing in the back of his head and so he says "No. Not like that," and turns Kowalski back around, settling a pillow under his hips. Kowalski's face is a careful mask, barely moving as Ray's dick pushes slowly in.

Ray's thumbs press into the hollows of Kowalski's hipbones as he starts to move, Kowalski's knees over Ray's shoulder blocking out almost all sound except his own harsh panting, the beat beat beat of blood in his ears. He tightens his grip and feels Kowalski's muscles contract in response, brushing across his thighs, his chest. He sees Kowalski's mouth form the word 'Harder' and he shakes his head because anything other than slow and steady and he's going to lose it.

"Harder," mouths Kowalski again and Ray sees the angry redness of Kowalski's dick against his belly leaking steadily like Kowalski can't turn the tap off. Is he trying to kill Ray? Is that what he wants?

"No," he says, realization dawning that he could fuck Kowalski into next year and it wouldn't change a thing. "You don't need harder." He alters their positions, bends as close as he can get, Kowalski's legs slipping a little way down his shoulders. He holds them in place and continues to thrust at a lazy pace.

Kowalski's hovering between pissed and blissed and Ray gives him everything; in the slow build of long and deep and sure, in the gentle circling of thumbs on skin, in his open, solid gaze. And in the moment before Kowalski comes, Ray sees his face change, sees him get it and then he is coming too and he knows that there'll be no more need to knock.

 

   


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End file.
